Looper True Ending
by Ace.Dinosaur
Summary: What actually happened.. You probably missed this if you were blinded by Rian Johnson's overbearing stupidity and lack of competence when it comes to writing a simple fraacking ending to an already lacking story - overall, a metaphor to Rian Johnson's repressed incestual background and underlying impotence.


**Author's** Note: Hi guys, after the incredible sucess of my first fanfic, _The Cold Phelps Saga_ (Which can be read here on the site, AO3 post coming soon), I figured I should post this little masterpiece I wrote after I witnessed the trainwreck that was _Looper. _I still can't get that piece of SHIT out of my mind. I have never been more insulted by a movie since _The Last Airbender. _[And that film was a desecration of an amazing, well thought out, intelligent children's show; both in plot and the blatant white washing of what should have been a primarily asian/oriental cast.] As strong as my opinion is of _that _flick, _Looper _managed to insult my intelligence on a much deeper level. A film that started with promise and followed the intertwining tales of morally grey characters, ended with an overtly simplified battle between what the director decided was white and black. I hope that one day Rian Johnson will read this and comprehend just how much I despised his "epic" tale, and perceived it as a cheap cop out to pathetically further Joseph Gordon Levitt's career. This is the product of endless days and nights of contemplation of what should have actually occurred, and, in mine and anyone that matter's headcanon, actually transpired.

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Looper True Ending

The tumult of the wind, crashing and screaming an unbearable howl that echoed painfully in Old Joe's mind, was overwhelming. The boy's gaze shifted back and forth to the figures lifted in the air; from the man that caused him pain to the woman he never really cared for.

Old Joe noticed the boy's gaze fixated on his mother before him. He came to the realization that there would be more than one death here. He tried to yell – that no one else needed to die here, he might have said – regardless, he went unheard.

'_He will suffer,'_ the boy thought of the Bad Man, _'but there's an obstacle in the way. Make it disappear, then make him pay.'_ His mind was made up.

Shots in the background, but to no avail. Young Joe could only witness the scene from a distance – any closer and he would be drawn in. He had to do something, had to save her –

Old Joe's voice could not raise any louder. His screams would reach no further than the storm would allow it to, the woman could not be saved by his hand –

The woman could not be saved.

She had been screaming for the child the whole time. He was her baby, she needed him, needed to cling to the belief that she could change him, _she could save him_ –

No amount of words could have changed the expression on his face; that cold, stony glare of objectivity that would not be challenged by emotion. She was in his way.

In a flurry the wind began to tear at her as a force tore from within. In a matter of seconds her body was gone, save for the whirlwind of mass that was what remained.

Young Joe stopped at the scene. That sharp, painful revelation crowded his mind, could not be pushed away; there was, from this point onward, no saving this child. He succumbed to the loss of innocence before him; he did not resurface.

The commotion died down. The boy had never exhausted so much power all at once – he would let the Bad Man go, just for a moment, just for a rest…

Old Joe fell. Recovering, he knew that his reaction time was limited – his task was very obvious now, he could sense, even to his counterpart.

The gun lay only a few feet away. It was a race of reflexes, he knew, when from his peripheral vision he could see the boy begin to rise once more.

He was faster. It would be a straight shot to the heart from this distance, a nice, clean shot amongst the gory, macabre environment –

And yet…

In the split seconds before circumstances truly dictated action, he saw a little boy – the sweet little child that Young Joe had made him remember, the boy that had protected him, had helped him out in a tough situation before…

It was all lost to a sudden change of presence in the boy, the immediate loss of innocence to the cold preparation of revenge in the child's mindset.

He pulled the trigger.

The boy began to fall.

Silence.

It would be ages before the child hit the ground. Old Joe turned, ever so slightly, to his counterpart. The latter had been witnessing the scene from afar, almost catatonically situated, forced to view this abomination in its entirety.

But at that moment, seconds before the boy's body would crumble at the dirt, their eyes met. A flash of recognition, true understanding, for the first time in their period of acquaintance, occurred. In that moment, Joe accepted himself.

The boy hit the ground in what could have been an earth-shattering thud.

Old Joe vanished.

The noise, the cacophonic, ear-splitting shrieks of time overwhelmed him in its entirety as the years flashed by in seconds. His insides turning as the wave of words, actions and moments all filled his mind, the splits of the effects of now and then all slit his skin in a flurry of –

He was back in the moment before it all went wrong. Face-flat on the cold, wooden floor, he took his time to recover, assess his situation. He wiped the cold sweat from his face and made himself stand through the flush of disorient. And then…

Her.

He turned to the window, ignoring the rush of blood in his haste to do so, and saw her, in the backyard, completely unscathed. Stillness overcame him as a wave of disbelief and reassurance rushed over him; tears ran down his face and into the creases of his smile. All was silent. All was right.

He was home.

-Young Joe-

He might have been there for hours. Days may have passed – he would not have noticed. This moment of existentialism was far too grand to ignore.

What had he been fighting for? The weight on his heart could not be lifted, the scene of the deaths of so many over the years, of too many innocents in so little time –

- But there was nothing he could have done.

The weight was lifted just enough to come back to his senses.

There was nothing different he _would_ have done.

He did this.

Nothing could have changed this outcome. The boy was already too enveloped in his own insanity; he could not be saved.

He could stand. In all directions there were only the remains of what had been – life, his vehicle, his money, his dreams –

But that wasn't right. _There_ – beyond all that, he saw, was an open land… an area open to opportunity. A flicker of hope. A chance for redemption.

At his own pace, he made his way into the beginnings of a new life.


End file.
